


4 Times, Mycroft Holmes Said 'I love you' (and 1 time someone said it to him)

by kez



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Family, Fluff, Gen, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-20
Updated: 2013-07-20
Packaged: 2017-12-20 19:50:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/891164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kez/pseuds/kez
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The title speaks for itself.... 4 Times, Mycroft Holmes Said 'I love you' (and 1 time someone said it to him).</p>
            </blockquote>





	4 Times, Mycroft Holmes Said 'I love you' (and 1 time someone said it to him)

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [4 раза Майкрофт сказал "Я люблю тебя" (и только 1 раз кто-то сказал это ему "Я тоже")](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1048083) by [Fox_Thom](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fox_Thom/pseuds/Fox_Thom)



> I do not know quite how I came to fall in love with this pairing... but I am sure it is somehow the fault of JoeReaves...
> 
> Entirely unbeta'd, any mistakes are my own! Sorry!

**One**

Mycroft was four. Already precocious and eager to learn as much of everything as he could. 

His father found it a delight, his precious son willing to sit on his lap for hours, while they read together. Mycroft could not yet read by himself all the time, but he could certainly read enough that he didn't _need_ his father to read too him.

It was just such a day, the two of them holed up together in his father's study until it was almost bedtime.

Mycroft curled up in his lap as much as his pudgy frame would allow, reading Gulliver's Travel's - 'you can learn just as much from good fiction, as non-fiction, Mycroft,' his father said often – until his mother inevitably came and insisted that it was time for Mycroft to go to sleep.

"Father," Mycroft murmured, just as Gulliver was dropped into the sea. "Do you think I could one day go on adventures, like Gulliver."

"Perhaps," his father agreed. "Although, you're mother and I would miss you terribly, if you went too far."

Mycroft looked up, into his fathers face considering. "I do not have to go as far as Gulliver," he conceded. "I love you, father. And mother. I would not want to make you miss me."

Mycroft's father smiled, pressing a kiss into flaming red curls. "We love you too, Mycroft," he said. "Perhaps, we can have an adventure together? Then, no one would have to miss anyone."

Mycroft grinned brightly up at his father. "That is a wonderful idea, father."

*~*~*~*~*

**Two**

"He's very small," Mycroft said. He was ten and visiting his mother in the hospital.

"He'll grow, my love, just like you did," his mother said, smiling tiredly.

"May I hold him?" Mycroft asked.

"Very gently, Mycroft, hold his head," his mother reminded him, placing the small bundle in his arms.

"Hello, Sherlock," Mycroft greeted the baby. "I am your big brother, Mycroft," he introduced himself.

The baby looked up at him, with big, pale eyes.

"Will his eyes always be that colour?"

"Perhaps," his mother said.

Mycroft nodded, thoughtful, before pressing a kiss against the few dark, wisps of hair on the baby's head. "I love you, brother," he said. "I will be the best big brother ever."

His mother laughed delicately beside him. "I'm sure you will, Mycroft."

*~*~*~*~*

**Three**

Mycroft was fourteen. Boarding school was... dull. Nothing new to learn, nothing he didn't already know.

The only saving grace was his room mate. Nathaniel was not quite as smart as Mycroft, but he was intelligent, funny, kind.

He was the first real friend Mycroft had ever had.

And then Nathaniel told him he was leaving. He would not be returning after the Christmas holidays.

His father was career military and they were moving away. He wouldn't be allowed to stay in the UK, while his parents went overseas.

Mycroft was devastated. Nathaniel seemed equally so, the two of them curling together on Mycroft's bed on the last day of term.

Mycroft had never kissed anyone before, who was not a family member. Never been kissed _properly_ , with soft, salty lips pressed against his own.

"I'll miss you, Mycroft," Nathaniel murmured softly.

"I love you," Mycroft said in answer.

Neither of them spoke the rest of the night. There was nothing left to say.

*~*~*~*~*

**Four**

At twenty-two Mycroft had no real desire to get married. But it was expected.

Get married, have children to carry on the family line.

Mycroft went through the processes of dating the various respectable women his parents threw at him or the occasional one he met himself through work. They were all perfectly nice, attractive, intelligent and very _proper_.

He finally settled on Elizabeth, because her background was similar enough that she understood what was expected of him and she had, over the few months they'd been dating, become a good friends

"I love you," he told her, when he pushed the diamond engagement ring, standing in front of the fireplace in his family home. It wasn't strictly true. 

"I love you too," she offered a smile. That wasn't strictly true either, Mycroft knew.

But they cared for each other. She was a good friend, but he was not in love with her, nor she him.

Mycroft was certain that was the most he could expect.

*~*~*~*~*

**One**

By the time Mycroft was forty-five. He had a failed marriage, a job that took almost all of his attention and what little was left, had been focused on his brothers antics, for most of the last dozen years.

That had become easier since John Watson entered the picture. Mycroft was pleased with the match. John Watson was not someone Mycroft would have chosen for his brother, but their affection for each other seemed to know no bounds.

And it had given Mycroft time to occasionally think about his own life. Although, he hadn't expected the DI, who'd been... handling, Sherlock for years, to become part of it.

Gregory was attractive of course, Mycroft had always known that. And despite Sherlock's opinion, the man was intelligent, if not entirely on the level of the Holmes brothers. Along with his dry wit and the fact he not only tolerated, but liked Sherlock... he'd always had a certain level of Mycroft's attention, but now that attention had turned from being largely focused around his interactions with Sherlock and John, into focusing, simply on Greg as an individual element.

As someone Mycroft... _cared_ for.

It was ridiculous, that he didn't know how to say it. That he hadn't told anyone in nearly twenty years that he loved them, even more since he'd _meant it_ and faced now with it, Mycroft didn't have the words.

It was lucky, he supposed, that Greg was not as... emotionally restrained, as himself. That Greg seemed to know without him saying it, that Greg seemed able to return the sentiment, without a single word. That even after months without the words, he didn't doubt the feelings.

It was, however, Mycroft reflected, curled against Greg in bed, sweat cooling on their skin, immensely pleasing, to hear them, as Greg murmured the words sleepily against his lips. "I love you, Mycroft."

Mycroft smiled, more to himself than Greg and the words were suddenly as easy as they had been when he was a child. "I love you too, Gregory."


End file.
